Digital Frontier
by EyaBear
Summary: What if the Flynns and Quorra had failed? What if CLU had escaped from the Grid? What would the world look like a century later? Find out in this Hunger Games/Tron crossover!
1. Chapter 1

_[I don't own anything related to Tron or The Hunger Games. Nothin'. Nada. Zippo.]_

_[[Inspired watching Tron: Legacy, where they literally compete in the 'Games', immediately after watching the new Hunger Games movie trailer. Doesn't get any more inspirational than that, folks.]]_

_[[[This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so let me know what you think, and I may keep it up ;)]]]  
><em>

**Chapter 1**

Childhood had always been hard for the people of CLUX.

Aside from the fact that that the land we lived in sounded like the noise a retarded chicken would make, it also happened to be a raging cesspool of poverty. Mix that with a healthy dose of maniacal tyranny and a sprinkling of inhumanity, and you'll have yourself a bona fide recipe for some disastrous first years of life. It's a miracle any of us survived to spawn another generation.

As I ducked around the black hooded guards surrounding the square in the middle of town, I could feel their blank eyes boring into the back of my head, as if daring me to try anything that broke protocol. I might have been offended by their suspicious glares, if it weren't for the fact that they treated everyone like that, from the smallest toddler to the crippled old man begging for bits on the side of the road. Their suspicion was beyond being a lifestyle choice; for the Core, it was in their programming.

Of course, they were also programmed to recognize the difference between a toddler, and, say, a strapping lad of eighteen, such as myself, which is why I knew their eyes would follow me until I disappeared from their sight. Eighteen was considered the beginning of what officials liked to refer to as the 'rebellion stage.'

Or, in other words, my birthday that year had officially bumped my threat status up from 'keep an eye on this one' to 'watch him like a hawk.'

Which was fine by me. I like a good challenge.

Slipping down an alley between the local pharmacy and the baker's shop, I darted around several huddled masses on the ground before continuing on my way. That street was well known for being a safe haven for wanderers, outlaws, and those who simply didn't want to be interrogated by the Core. The heat from the bakery made the Core uncomfortable, sometimes even short-circuiting their systems if they hung around for too long. Short-circuiting meant a trip back to the Capital and several hours of downloading paperwork, so it was avoided if at all possible. Luckily, for the people in my district, it meant a momentary respite from a life of terror in an alleyway that always smelled like baking bread.

For me, the street was not a hideaway, but a shortcut. As I exited the other end, blinking in the watery mid-October sunlight, a cheerful, sing-song voice greeted my ears. "Luka! I have a surprise for youuu!"

A smile twitched at the corner of my lips, though I had yet to locate the source of the sound. As I crossed the dirty street, a blur of color came barreling towards me from the left, stopping just short of knocking me clean off my feet. "Luka! Didn't you hear me? Don't you want to know what the surprise is?"

Turning to face her, I kept my face set in a mask of passive indifference. "Eh. Not really."

Jenna's face scrunched up, wrinkling her nose and distorting her freckles in a way that made it hard for me not to laugh at her. One hand she had tucked in a pocket of her overalls and the other she quickly used to punch me in the arm with what I'm sure she thought was bone-crunching force. I flinched away good-naturedly, then pulled on one of her blonde, braided pigtails. She swatted my hand away, her lower lip jutting out into a pout. "Fine! I won't tell you. Just… just go away and go do whatever it was you were going to do, jerk."

"Aw, Jenna, don't be like that!" I replied, my lip forming a goofy pout identical to hers. It was bizarre just how much we could look alike, when we wanted to. Despite the fact that we weren't technically identical twins, the sibling resemblance between us was uncanny."You know it's my job as big brother to tease you until the cows come home."

Her green eyes threw daggers in my direction. "You know full well that I am three minutes older than you, you brat."

"Only in dog years," I quickly threw back. Her look of outrage was matched in magnitude only by my ever-expanding grin.

"You… you…" Unable to come up with a retort (that had always been _my _specialty), she turned on the heel of her well-worn boots and began to storm away.

I caught her by the elbow and tried to drag her back, which resulted in both of us nearly losing our balance, which almost caused us to tumble into the filth-laden gutter. The reminder of our surroundings snapped us both back into a slightly more somber demeanor. We tended to forget things like the Core and neighbors and common decency when we were around each other. It had been a source of unending terror for our parents, who were sure one of our arguments would land us in a detention cell one day.

It looked like we were safe, for now. There weren't many Core members in sight; the only one I could see was lounging against a fence a couple hundred yards from us, and he certainly wasn't cut from the same cloth as the ones guarding the mayor's house. Possibly a scout with some bad programming, or perhaps just a lazy patrol drone, he wasn't even looking in our direction, despite some of the nervous glances we were receiving from some of the human passersby. Either way we were better safe than sorry; I poked Jenna in the shoulder and then nodded my head eastward. We trotted towards home together, in silence, leaving me plenty of time to examine the scenery.

District Ten was one of the larger districts, if the gossip I'd heard about the outside world could be believed. We lived a relatively simple life; our clothes were generally homemade, and our food came almost entirely from the animals we raised. That was District Ten's specialty, livestock. As long as we met our quota for the Capitol, we could do whatever we wanted with the leftovers. That sounds generous, except for the fact that the demands of the Capitol often exceeded the abilities of the local farmers. Even in plentiful years, poorer families would occasionally go hungry. In a year of drought, or famine, half of us all but starved to death.

Jenna and I were lucky; our father was a particularly enterprising man who, under the watchful eye of the Core (to ensure he wasn't overstepping his boundaries), had managed to build a farm that could support the Capitol _and_ his family, and, in good years, even have some to spare.

It was good, then, that we had been born into the Taylin family. The birth of twins to an unsuspecting family could mean financial ruin, having to provide for two bundles of joy instead of one, but hunger had never been a major word in our vocabulary.

This, however, did not mean we lived an easy life. On the contrary—the success of our farm actually made that much more work for all of us. I was up at four every morning to feed the animals, and Jenna's arms and legs were burning with fatigue at the end of each day when we tumbled into bed. Despite naturally being more dirty-blonde, both of our heads had been bleached nearly white by years under the hot summer sun, and despite being thoroughly tanned, freckles dotted both of our noses. We were approximately the same height. At five-foot-nine, she was a little tall for a girl, and I a little short for a guy, but she was of a more slender build than I. I could trump her at arm wrestling, but I was no match for her in any sort of race.

My parents said our birth had been the shock of their lives; I knew at one point in time there were machines that could predict this type of occurrence, but ever since the Great Purge, humanity's technological advancements had been channeled in other directions. Nevertheless, after the surprise had worn off, we had been welcomed into the family with open arms. My mother was as gentle as a spring breeze and sweet as apple pie; for her, two children just meant more for her to love. My father, a giant, burly man who towered over just about everyone he had ever met, was a little more withdrawn when it came to the whole 'emotions' issue. To him, two children meant twice the free labor, just as two calves meant twice the milk. Either way, we were welcome.

Despite having a set of good, reliable parents, Jenna and I had grown up depending almost entirely on each other for support. Oh, we argued almost constantly—the whole town could attest to that. However, when it came right down to it, if there was one person in the world I would trust with my life, no questions asked, it was her.

Unfortunately, once a year, the blessing of having a twin to lean on became the ultimate curse.

Because, once a year, there came the Hunger Games.

Just the mention of the name could send shivers down our backs, even if the Reaping had been only yesterday and we had escaped for another whole year. If the Games could tear apart a family, and break the hearts of siblings and parents everywhere, then imagine what they could do to us. Twins, one female and one male? It made my head burn just thinking about the possible disastrous results.

So, instead of focusing on that unlikely future, I chose instead to focus on my complete hatred of those from who the Games had originated. The Core, yes, but it was more than that. It was the inhabitants of the Capitol, every single last filthy program and bit of data that had streamed into our world years ago.

I didn't know all the details; it had been over a hundred years ago, and the details were hazy to begin with. What I did know was this—some crazy inventor and his son had opened up a pathway between the world inside of computers, and the outside world—our world. I don't think he was trying to cause problems. He was probably trying to help the world in his own, strange way. However, somewhere along the way, a program, designed by the original inventor, went rogue, and escaped from the computer with a massive army, determined to detroy the human world and all its imperfections.

They did a damn good job of it, too. Before anyone realized what was happening, half of the world had been burned to the ground. They would have finished us all off, too, if it weren't for one bit of information that wasn't explained to the crazy program _before_ he went on a killing rampage. Not only were the humans the only ones with the creative and logical power to develop new technology, but they were also the only ones who knew how to run the computers from the outside, including running the power plants that made the computers tick in the first place.

Whoops.

So, with only a small chunk of the world left unravaged, the program decided, instead of eliminating humans, he would simply set himself up as their overlord and rule over them as his slaves.

And so came about our mighty and eternal leader, CLU.

He divided up the remains of the world into 13 districts, each with their own purposes and tasks. District 5 produced electricity, to power the Capitol and occasionally the other districts. District 10 and 11 focused primarily on farming: livestock and agriculture, respectively. District 3 was research and development, to come up with new, nasty ways for the Capitol to kill people. And so on. CLU settled back, certain his new empire would last forever.

Unfortunately, as part of a computer, he had no way of predicting the sheer tenacity of the human race. After only a couple years, CLU had a full-scale rebellion on his hands. Unfortunately, what the rebellion had in spirit, it lacked in resources, and it was soon quashed beneath CLU's powerful army. Furious with his new subjects and no doubt drawing on his years of success with games _inside_ of the computer, CLU decided he could implement the same process to keep the 'users' under his control.

And thus the Hunger Games were born. Every year, one boy and one girl from each district, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, were chosen to compete inside of the original computer on a battle ground that changed from year to year. They were called the Hunger Games because, being computers, they forgot to throw in some food sources for the users the first time around, and most of the contestants starved to death. Unfortunately, that doesn't even begin to describe the horror of the Games. Sometimes the contestants were given lightcycles; these years, despite being brutal, were often mercifully short. However, more likely than not, they chucked you in there with a variety of weapons in a vast computerized terrain, forcing the contestants to hunt each other down until only _one_ was left alive.

You can see how this might be a problem for male and female twins.

But what could we do about it? There was absolutely no resisting the Core, unless you had a death wish. They were the elite killers of the programming world. Admittedly, some were more impressive than others—some of them had gotten the job by chance, or through a glitch, or simply because they were having a slow day at the recruitment office. The true Core, however, could kill you faster than you could ask for forgiveness and never blink an eye, because that's what they were programmed to do.

Also, they couldn't die—at least, not in the traditional sense. Though they were physically part of the world, in reality, they were only bits of data. Just as a human still bleeds real blood inside of the Grid, a program damaged on the outside world will merely shatter, then be retransmitted back into the original terminal, where they can pop right back into the real world in a never-ending cycle.

There was no fighting it, and no stopping it. CLU was just a computer program—he couldn't age or die. You just had to keep your head down and slog on in the hopes that one day a giant meteor would crash into the main terminal and finally wipe out CLU for good.

As I mulled all these depressing thoughts over, we made it out of town, past about a billion fields of grazing cattle, and to the dirt road that led up to our little white farmhouse. Mama was waiting anxiously on the porch, as she always did when we were more than ten seconds late for anything. However, her usual expression of concern was shadowed today by something that ran even deeper than fretting about the time. This brought the date back into the forefront of my mind, though I had determinedly been trying to keep it blocked out the entire day. Naturally, there was a reason for the silent nervousness in town and my out-of-character thoughts on all things Capitol—tomorrow was Reaping Day.

Or, to be more precise, our _last_ Reaping Day.


	2. Chapter 2

_[I do not own anything related to Tron or the Hunger Games, no matter how much I wish I did]_

**Chapter 2**

"Where on _earth_ have you two been?" Mama scolded as we shuffled up the pathway, fiercely shaking the wooden spoon in her right hand in our direction. "I have half a mind to tan both of your hides and hang them up on the barn door for all the world to see!"

"Sorry, Mama," Jenna replied, sneaking a glance at me out of the corner of her eye. We both knew Mama wouldn't beat us even if her life depended on it. "It took me a while to find Luka. He's mighty good at hiding, when he doesn't want to be found."

I scrunched up my nose exactly as Jenna had when I teased her earlier. "I wasn't hiding! Maybe you're just terrible at finding things."

"Yeah, well, you're a—"

"Jenna!" Mama cut in before things could get out of hand. She knew us so well. "Didn't you have something you wanted to show your brother? Isn't that why you scooted into town in the first place?"

"OH!" Jenna's eyes sparkled and her lips parted in a wide grin, creating one of her few expressions that I was sure I would never be able to mimic. "Of course! How could I forget?" Grabbing my hand, she tugged me away from the house as fast as her legs would take her. Unfortunately for me, that was faster than I could run, even on a good day. Mama shook her head in exasperation as she watched me stumble after her, then turned and headed back into the kitchen to finish cooking dinner.

Bewildered but not particularly unwilling, I followed Jenna, wondering what all the fuss could possibly be about. Jenna was easy excitable, but it was a rare day that she managed to work herself into such a tizzy that I couldn't guess what had gotten underneath her skin.

We finally came to a halt in front of Old Red, the rather unoriginally named barn that had been the first to be raised on my father's land— actually, my great-grandfather's land, at that particular point in time. Over the years it had undergone its fair share of wear and tear, and the paint was now less red and more of a dingy rust-brown. Other barns had sprung up all over the farm, but Old Red was the central point from which they all radiated.

That still didn't explain what had possessed Jenna, causing her to drag me half a mile so that I could stand at its front door. Still slightly winded from the run, I cocked my head at her and raised one eyebrow, but she just smiled and said, "You'll see."

The door, though ancient, easily swung open underneath the palm of my hand. It took about ten seconds for my eyes to adjust to the change in the light, but even as I scanned the shadows expectantly, I couldn't see what had caused the commotion. To my left were several rows of pens for the horses, who were staring at me expectantly; I usually only came into Old Red to feed them, and the dim light in the barn meant they couldn't tell it was only afternoon. To my right were piles of hay, and beyond that, the area where Jenna milked the cows; I could see her well-worn stool laying on its side in a shaft of sunlight.

"Look, Jenna, I still don't see…" Trailing off as Jenna quietly closed the door behind us, I heard a faint scuffling sound, followed by a muffled yelp. Creeping slowly towards the hay and peering over the first piled mound, an unexpected sight met my eyes. Rex, the female dog I had unfortunately named before I understood what separated girls and boys besides the always obvious cooties, was nestled in a pocket of warm straw, nursing her newborn pups.

After thirty seconds of silence, Jenna crept up behind me, a dismayed look on her face. "What's wrong?" she asked, a tiny hint of hurt coloring her tone. "I thought you'd be excited."

I tried to reply, but found it impossible to speak because my throat had closed up in an uncomfortable way. She was right; normally I would be thrilled. In fact, normally, I would have named them all by then, but today, considering the date and the stress that had been mounting inside me like a mountain lion waiting to spring, seeing the miracle of new life in such a fragile and vulnerable state brought on a wave of terror and anger that threatened to engulf me like a tidal wave.

Rather than admit my weakness, I ran, like the coward I knew I really was. The echo of Old Red's door as it slammed shut on the only person in the world who understood me felt like a bullet rattling around in my chest, wounding everything it touched.

* * *

><p>Hours later, I found myself in the small slice of forest on the corner of our property, chucking thin circles of sharpened metal at a withered old oak tree. It was sort of a macabre game Jenna and I had invented when we were younger. Convincing ourselves that participation in the Games was an honor, because the reality was just too hard for us to process, we went into 'training', coaching each other in case one day one of us was chosen to compete. Most of the training we had gone through was ridiculous—strapping ourselves to cattle in an attempt to ride them like light cycles, or tossing ourselves off of barns, sheet parachutes in hand, trying to emulate the dragonfly backpacks—strap on packs that allowed you to fly while looking like a silly, glittering bug— that they occasionally gave to contestants.<p>

As the years slowly went by, we refined our training towards more useful practices. Every contestant was given an identity disk (a circular throwing disk that was basically the only weapon you're guaranteed in the Games), so we sharpened every round-ish item we could get our hands on and started throwing them at each other. Mama quickly put an end to that when I came home one day with three of my fingers nearly sliced off, so we stuck to throwing at inanimate objects from that point forward. We held races with the horses, competed to see who could lift buckets of water above their head for the longest, and generally did things that made us look quite silly as we did our chores.

Eventually we realized that simply doing our chores was enough of a workout, without all the silliness, but I still came out to our old haunting grounds whenever I wanted to be alone with my thoughts.

Which, now that I think about it, was kind of backwards logic; Jenna always knew exactly where to find me. She came quietly, slipping into the clearing and leaning against another, younger oak, watching me with her gentle green eyes as I threw disk after disk, sticking the metal deep into the wood again and again and again.

As the sun was beginning to set, streaking the sky with a beautiful array of pinks and oranges, she said, "You know, you're going to kill the tree it you keep that up for much longer."

I ignored her. _Wham. _Another disk hit its mark.

"Luka, look. I know you're upset, but honestly, I'm not really sure why. Okay, yes, tomorrow is Reaping Day. I get that. We're all stressed, but we've made it this far, and after tomorrow, we're home free! We'll never have to worry about Reaping Day again, and—"

"Never have to worry about Reaping Day?" Finally acknowledging her presence, I turned, smoldering rage in my eyes. I could tell this wasn't the reaction she was hoping her pep talk would elicit by the startled look on her face. "Don't you get it, Jenna? It's never going to be over, not until the day we die, and even then it won't end."

"I… I didn't mean…"

My fury boiled over. I wasn't angry at her, exactly, but since the universe in general was my target, and she happened to be the closest living thing, my screaming certainly seemed to be aimed in her direction. "Over? OVER! Do our lives just end tomorrow, Jenna? Are we going to cut off all contact with the outside world and become hermits? If so, I must've missed the memo that we're never speaking to anyone ever again. What if I want to have children one day, Jenna! Don't you want to be a mother? Don't you want to have a family? Do you think I want to have to worry every day, looking down at my newborn baby, that someday he might be sent off like a cow to be butchered by his own kind?"

Jenna's mouth fell open in astonishment, but I wasn't anywhere _near_ finished.

"Rex doesn't have to worry about _her _babies being brutally murdered by a pack of wild dogs! Why should I? Why should the DOG get more security concerning the life of her offspring than I do!

"But, okay. You're right. Not everyone gets married. Not everyone has kids. I could do that. I could restrain myself; deny myself all the pleasures of a loving family of my own for the sake of the lives of my unborn children. How about then? Will it be over then, Jenna? NO! Because every year of my miserable life I will have to watch twenty-six children, some of them little girls who haven't even hit puberty, brutally murder each other for the entertainment of a group of barbarians who are nothing but bits of data on a computer chip! AHHG!" With one massive swing, I heaved my final disk at the tree. Having already been abused to the point of no return, the old oak gave one final, weary creak, before tumbling backwards under the force of the round blade and hitting the forest floor with a mighty crash.

Silence fell. After all my screaming, my eardrums welcomed the relief. I stared at the chips of wood littering the forest floor around the base of the fallen oak, wondering if maybe it would have been easier if I had been standing in the tree's place. A quick flash of pain and one final tumble to the ground; did it really sound so bad?

Then a pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around me from the side, a little bit of sanity in my topsy-turvy world. Her face leaned on my shoulder, oblivious to the fact that I was soaked with sweat and possibly my own tears.

"It'll be okay, little brother," she whispered, so low I could barely make out the words. "Don't think about the things we might have to die for. Think of the things worth living for."


	3. Chapter 3

_[I own nothing Tron/HG related. So there.]_

**Chapter 3**

Jenna eventually calmed me down enough so that she didn't have to drag me home kicking and screaming, but I was still gloomy and withdrawn throughout the rest of the evening. Father didn't notice the change in the atmosphere. He was barely in the house long enough to throw some beef and corn into his mouth before heading out to the fields again, but I could tell that he was feeling stressed. He and I were similar in that we both tended to withdraw when confronted with a problem, but he didn't have a Jenna to balance out his extremes like I did. I could have been throwing a tantrum on the floor and he would have missed it entirely.

Mama, on the other hand, sensed my distress, but knew better than to try to comfort me or reason with me. She knew I would be inconsolable until tomorrow was well behind me. Instead, she tried to combat my grouchiness by being overly chipper, but this only made me grumpier.

Jenna was as silent as I was, but not in the same way. My silence reeked of despair, but hers was more thoughtful, as if she was trying to figure out the answer to a complicated puzzle. I could feel her eyes boring into me when my head was turned, but whenever I glanced at her it looked like she was staring off into space, at nothing at all.

It wasn't until we were climbing into bed that night in our shared attic room that she decided to speak her mind. "I've been thinking about what you said," she said calmly into the darkness.

I gave a noncommittal grunt in reply. I had no desire to rehash that afternoon's episode.

She ignored me. "I think you're right, in some ways. I think that I've been avoiding the problem, like I was subconsciously hoping that it would go away if I could just keep my head down and make it past our last reaping. As if when we made it past tomorrow, all our problems would just evaporate and things would go back to the way they were when we were kids. Back when everything was simple and the games were just a program we had to watch on the television. Distant and disconnected."

I stared at the slanted ceiling over my head, my mind blank, waiting for her to finish.

"But you're right. It's not going to go away just because we're finally safe. Every year we'll have to watch our friends get sent off to their deaths, and after that, the children of our friends, or maybe even a child of our own. It's unbearable, in every possible way, and I just can't see myself wanting to live through that."

Despair threatened to engulf me entirely. Jenna had always been the optimistic, courageous one; if she was admitting defeat, then what hope was there to be had?

"So we're just going to have to find a way to fight back."

A wave a panic washed over me as her words registered in my head, and I jerked up into a sitting position, nearly slamming my skull on my headboard. "Jenna, no!" I whispered urgently, my eyes straining against the darkness, trying to make out her figure. "No! Why would you do that? That's not what I was trying to imply at all! You can't fight them. You'll just end up in a cell block, or worse, dead. I absolutely forbid it."

When she spoke again, I still couldn't see her face, but I could hear the scowl in her voice. "Who are you to forbid me to do anything? Last time I checked, we weren't joined at the hip, Luka. I'll do what I think is right, and nothing less. So I forbid _you _from trying to stop me."

Rendered speechless, it took several minutes for me to formulate a reply. I had never heard that tone of rebellion in her voice before, especially not directed at me. Honestly, it scared me a good deal. If she got herself imprisoned because she lost her temper and attacked a Core member, my entire world would shatter, and without her help I would never be able to pick up the pieces.

When I finally did speak, I sounded extremely pathetic, even to my own ears. "Jenna, _please _don't do anything stupid. I've just been frustrated, that's all. Things will be fine after the reaping, I promise."

To my great surprise, I heard a warm chuckle coming from her bed. "Calm down, little brother. I don't plan on throwing myself off a proverbial cliff. If and when I decide to make a move, it won't be attacking the Core with a kitchen knife. I'm not _quite_ that stupid."

I tried to let the tension drain from my muscles as I lowered my head back down to my pillow. At least I would have a while to talk her out of this silliness. "Just… before you try anything, swear you'll talk to me about it first."

"Of course." There was a long pause, where I could almost hear the cogs turning in her head, and then she continued, softer now, "Do you remember James Kindel?"

I squinted my eyes, trying to remember when the name didn't immediately ring a bell. "I'm not sure. Was he a past tribute, maybe?"

"Yeah. He was Marcy's little brother. You know, that girl in our year at school, who use to call you Pudgy when we were really little."

I winced at the memory (I was quite chubby in my early school years) and waited for Jenna to finish whatever she was thinking.

"She and I were best friends all through our pre-tribute years. We were never quite as close as you and I, but we were getting there. James was a year younger than us, and he used to try to tag along with us wherever he went. He idolized Marcy, and now that I think about it, I think he must have had quite the crush on me. He gave me a bouquet of weed flowers on Valentine's Day one year." I expected her to chuckle at the memory, but her voice remained somber.

"The next year, on his very first reaping day, he was chosen. I was standing next to Marcy in line. I remember feeling relief first, of course, because it wasn't your name they had picked. Then the reality of the situation hit me, and I turned to Marcy just in time to… just in time to see the life in her eyes… shatter." Jenna's voice broke, and I immediately, instinctually, crawled out of bed to sit on her worn quilt and wrap my arms around her shoulders. She nestled her face against my arm and continued sadly, "It was like, she was there one second, and the next, she was gone. She began to scream; I don't know if you remember, but it was the mostly unearthly sound I've ever heard in my entire life. Then she started trying to claw her way to the front of the crowd. Everyone else just assumed she was trying to get to James, but I was close enough that I could see where her gaze was focused, and I knew what she was going to do. She was going to try to take the place of the other tribute, the girl who had been chosen that year."

With my mind reeling, I pulled back, staring at Jenna. Finally close enough to make out her face, I could tell she was serious, but I couldn't understand. "What! Why? That doesn't make sense! If she had done that, then it was guaranteed that one of them would end up dead. Both of them, more likely than not. She should have been thankful that they weren't both chosen. Had she actually snapped? Gone crazy?"

Jenna gave me a watery smile. "No, of course not. She knew if she volunteered, one of them would end up dead. Marcy was hoping that it would be her. She thought she could protect him, so that he would be the one who made it back alive."

Silence fell as I suddenly began to feel very slimy on the inside. I hadn't even considered the fact that that might have been Marcy's motive. "But Marcy is still here; why didn't she volunteer?"

Apparently now it was Jenna's turn to feel bad; I could see the guilt surface in her eyes. "I… I punched her. I punched her so hard it knocked her out."

Finally, I remembered. It felt like ages ago, to me. I remembered Jenna punching a girl at a reaping. Afterwards, she had refused to talk about it, so the young, hormonal me had dismissed it as inconsequential. I felt like punching people all the time, especially around reaping day. No big deal.

Only, it was a big deal. I could see that much in Jenna's eyes. "So you saved Marcy's life? That's a good thing, right?"

"I don't think so."When I cocked a questioning brow, Jenna held out her hands and explained, "James died on the first day of the games. He never stood a chance. Marcy was never the same after that day. It was like a chunk of her had gone missing, and she's spent the rest of her life wandering around trying to find it. I haven't spoken to her since then, mostly out of guilt. James's face, alive _and _dead, has haunted me almost daily ever since then. It gets worse around the reaping, though, and your thoughts today just reopened the wound."

Seeing the look on my face, she hastily added, "Not that that's a bad thing; on the contrary, I think reexamining it has helped me figure out how to cure it. You ask me why I would want to fight, but let me ask you this in return; why bother living if there's nothing worth fighting for?"


	4. Chapter 4

_[I don't own anything Tron/Hunger Games related]_

_[Review if you like it. Or if you don't like it. Or if you are completely indifferent.]_

**Chapter 4**

Obviously, I didn't sleep very well that night, but could anyone really blame me for that?

Jenna, on the other hand, slept like a log. I knew this because of the loud mix between snorting and growling that poured from her mouth all night long. At first it surprised me that she could sleep so soundly, but she did seem relieved after our talk, like I'd allowed her to release all the weight off of her shoulders. Maybe her exhaustion did make sense after all. I'm glad I could be there for her, as she always was for me, but I wasn't sure I agreed with her. Sure, if I were honest with myself, I knew there were things in the world that I would fight tooth and nail to defend, if I had to.

However, looking across the room at Jenna's dark silhouette, I knew that there were also things I wasn't willing to risk just for a slim chance at my freedom.

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><p>Sunrise waits for no man, even a dead man walking, and the day dawned bright and early despite my silent wishes for that night to last forever. Jenna bounced out of bed, bright and chipper, her face full of hope and life.<p>

I have no doubt that I had never before looked so different from her as I did that morning.

My feet dragged with every step, like someone had taped frying pans to the bottoms of my shoes. My eyelids drooped so much that I had trouble seeing out from under them, a result of my sleepless night. My limbs felt clumsy, even with the most elementary actions, like buttoning up my red checkered shirt and pulling on the worn but clean brown trousers I only pulled out of the closet for special occasions. I wasn't sure I was going to make it out of the house, much less all the way to the Square for the Reaping.

Luckily, it seemed like Mama had made up her mind during the night not to put up with any more of my moodiness. She took one look at my mopey expression as I stomped down the stairs and sprang into action. Grabbing me by my left ear, despite my squealing protests, she dragged me over to the sink, pushed my head under the faucet, turned the tap, and watched my weariness wash down the sink as ice cold water soaked my hair and trickled into my ears. Eventually, I stopped yelping and hollering and just lay there, discovering that the abrupt wakeup call might actually be a blessing in disguise.

By the time Mama decided to let me up, a full minute had passed. I emerged from under the stream of water spluttering and soaking, but fully awake. Jenna had watched the whole escapade in respectful silence, but the sight of me dripping onto the kitchen floor like a melting snowman pushed her over the edge, and she began to laugh so hard I thought milk would shoot out of her nose. Mama joined in with a hearty chuckle, and even Papa looked up from his bacon and eggs to grin at my misfortune.

I tried to ignore the hilarity of the situation, but the cold water had cured me of my hotheadedness, at least for the moment. I found myself cracking a smile as I settled in for breakfast.

* * *

><p>The morning's jovial high spirits were lost the moment we reached the outer limits of the town. As always, the quiet chill that muffled all the normal sounds of life was almost too much to bear. Even the air felt somber. It was enough to drive any man to the brink of insanity. I have no doubt that it had at some point in the past. Here, it wasn't so much of a question of <em>if<em> you'd go insane, but _when_.

People shuffled along the dingy streets in their Sunday best, though it looked more like a funeral procession than any sort of church gathering. I could see many adults, long past their own Reaping times, and all of their expressions were different. Some wore barely concealed rage that twisted all of their facial features, while other's faces were stiff and masklike, like armor to shield them from the Core's watchful gaze. Still others wore their grief and heartache plainly for all to see; these were usually the ones with children of their own who were either presently or would someday join the Reaping. My father was one of the stonefaced, his pain turned inward and hidden from the rest of the world. My mother, on the other hand, always joined the ranks of the grieving, her tender heart preventing her from hiding her horror.

Soon enough we reached the Square. We call it that because that's what it is; a perfect square cut out of the center of town, covered with ugly, cracking, black asphalt and specifically set aside for use on this one day of every year. I suppose if someone wanted to they could have used the Square for something else, like maybe a gathering or large party that wouldn't fit indoors. There are no rules to outlaw use of the Square for civilian purposes on days other than Reaping Day. But no one in their right mind would host a party here, in this place where innocents were sent to die. Every other day of the year, I knew the Square would be so deserted that any newcomers to town could easily believe it was either haunted or host to some sort of deadly disease.

None of the buildings that lined the edges of the Square stood more than three stories high, but somehow they all still managed to tower over us, looming above, their windows wide and staring, almost like they too were being forced to watch the terrible proceedings. In the center of the Square was a metal platform, painted jet black and also perfectly square, that served as a stage for the Capital's twisted play.

Because that's what this was to them; a giant act, in a theater of their own design. Entertainment. Something to watch on television when they got bored.

And even though the adult faces in the crowd might differ from person to person, every kid between the ages of eleven and eighteen wore the same expression, because in that regard, we were all exactly alike. All of us were equally and utterly terrified.

The Core were completely silent among the humans, but they didn't need loud noises to make their presence known. Their dark clothing, so out of place among the faded colors most of us wore, acted like a visual black hole, drawing in the gaze of anyone nearby. They kept order merely with their presence, although everyone knew they kept plenty of weapons handy, just in case.

I kept my head down as they processed us and showed us where to stand among the other kids our age: Jenna on the right with the girls and I on the opposite side with the guys. I didn't want to glance up, not even for a moment. What if I caught the eye of an eleven year old girl across the clearing? I would look at her small face and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if she were nominated for death instead of Jenna, I would feel relieved. What if I caught a glimpse of the crippled boy, a year behind me in school, whose name I couldn't quite remember? Would I be able to deal with the feelings of guilt that would assault me when I admitted to myself that I would gladly see him sent to his death in my place?

Could I handle the crushing weight of my own pathetic selfishness?

I knew the answer to that question was no. I kept my eyes trained on the weeds near my boots.

After what felt like a million years, when I was sure I was about to explode from pent up tension, someone wearing black stepped up onto the stage.

My final Reaping had finally begun.


	5. Chapter 5

_[You know the deal. No owning of things.]_

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

* * *

><p>The Capital representative for District 10 this year was a man, with a tall, lanky build. He was, naturally, dressed in all black, but it was clear by his choice of clothing that he was not a member of the Core. The suit he wore was less functional and more fashionable, with accents of neon orange running in stripes down the legs of his trousers. He also wore a large orange pendant around his neck in the shape of a "Q", clearly visible against the dark background of his button down, long-sleeved shirt. He looked just as out of place against the sepia toned crowd as the rest of the Core did, but he also looked out of place amidst the silent guards flanking the stage.<p>

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he began to speak to us as soon as he reached the center of the stage, his voice loud and carrying, but also flat and monotone. He ran a pale hand casually though his greasy, styled black hair and flashed what I'm sure he thought was a charming smile.

I disliked him immediately. Our usual representative was a female program, who, although very loyal to the Capital, was at least pleasant and tolerable. This man exuded nastiness from every pore on his body.

"I'm afraid," he continued speaking as I glared suspiciously at him, shrouded by the anonymity of the crowd, "that Nelsa could not volunteer to be your representative this year, and thus the duty of being in charge of your ceremony falls to me. My name is Kon, and I am here to make sure one of your tributes emerges from the grid victorious!" He smiled again and lifted up his hands, as if expecting cheers and applause. He was met with silence, and after a couple awkward moments, he lowered his arms once more. I could see his beady black eyes scanning the crowd as he did so, as if looking for something.

If that thing was approval, he would be hard-pressed to find it here.

"Yes. Well. With that said, I believe you all know the procedure by now. I am here to choose one young lady," he held up the index finger on his left hand, "and one young man," and brought up the same finger on his right, "to bestow upon the honor of competing in our grand illustrious leader's magnificent games." As he finished his sentence, he brought the two fingers together in front of him and pointed them towards the awaiting crowd of children. "Now, without further ado, please direct your attention towards the female selection screen."

He gestured to his left, and everyone's heads turned simultaneously to look at the large monitor screen being wheeled onto the stage. It was flashing what looked like nonsense; random bits of code and numbers in bright orange. They began to flash faster now as everyone stared intently in the same direction, unable to pull their eyes away. The numbers darted this way and that and grew bigger and brighter, until they filled the entire screen with a solid, sickly orange glow. Then, against the vivid color, a black name in simple lettering shimmered into existence.

Jenna Taylin.

I think I may have screamed. Or fainted. Or some strange combination of the two. When I came to my senses, a pair of strong arms was hooked underneath my armpits, keeping me on my feet when every muscle in my body was demanding I slump to the ground. However, I could not spare a look behind me to determine who was holding me up, because there was Jenna, already onstage, her head held high and a serene look on her face, as if she had already made peace with her fate. Already the male monitor was in place, flashing faster and faster, and in that instant, I knew what I had to do. Jenna's eyes located me in the crowd and she shook her head firmly, reading my mind almost before I could make it up, but that made little difference to me. I didn't even bother to read the name as it appeared.

"I volunteer in his place!" I said, my voice much firmer and clearer than I imagined I could be capable of at this particular moment in time. A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. We were well known in town and it was clear to everyone present exactly what I had just signed myself up for. Volunteering to take someone else's place during the Reaping was non-negotiable and completely binding the moment it is spoken aloud. I heard relieved sobbing break out to my right and some small part of my brain registered the cries as belonging to the boy whose place I had just taken. I didn't care about him. My eyes were focused on Jenna.

She looked furious. Absolutely livid. In all our years together I had never seen such anger sparking in her bright green eyes. And yet, at the same time, I could sense some other emotion hidden underneath all that rage. Could it possibly be a hint of pride?

I made my way up to the stage robotically, my brain running on autopilot to keep myself from breaking down. I could not turn my head to look out over the crowd for fear I would see my mother somewhere, her heart torn from her chest and ripped to shreds. I kept my eyes on Jenna.

As I stepped up onto the smooth, dark surface, Kon turned to congratulate me and shake my hand. I couldn't see his face through the strange, blurry film over my eyes. I could not hear what he said to me through the strange buzzing noise filling my ears.

There was only one thing I registered through my daze. Kon turned back to the crowd to close the ceremony, but before he could say a word, a quiet voice pierced through the confusion and shocked me awake as effectively as Ma pushing my head under the icy faucet water.

"And I volunteer in the place of Jenna Taylin."

I remember turning. I remember seeing a slight figure in a white dress standing in the center of the aisle, hovering in no-man's land between the girls and the boys.

And that is all I remember, because that was the point where I fainted away, slamming against the stage with a thud.


	6. Chapter 6

I awoke to the sound of indistinct rumbling, reminiscent of the purring of some large, slumbering beast. I couldn't tell what direction it was coming from, as it seemed to be humming all around me. My eyes were sticky with prolonged sleep, and as I reached up to rub them, I shook my arms free of a soft, silky blanket. This was the first hint my sluggish brain processed that told me I wasn't at home in my bed. My quilts were rougher, and covered in loose strands of yarn and cotton. This sensation of silken fabric on my skin was a foreign one.

I bolted upright, quickly forcing my eyes open in an attempt to look around. However, my eyes were having none of that, and my surroundings materialized rather slowly as they adjusted to the light in the room and the strange reflectiveness of the furniture in the cabin.

For that's where I was, I realized as more and more shapes swam into focus. A small, well-furnished cabin, likely aboard some sort of traveling craft. A train, or an airship, perhaps? That would explain the rumbling noise. The furniture was made of a mixture of black glass and metal, with hints of orange throughout the room in the more organic materials, like the pillows on the couch. There was nothing inherently offensive about it, but it absolutely _reeked_ of the Capital's peculiar fashion sense, so I hated it instinctively.

The only light source was glowing dimly from behind the orange curtains over the window, casting a filter over the room that bounced off of all the reflective surfaces. It gave the place an unsettling, other-worldly feel. I was eager to stand and throw those curtains open, in hopes of letting _something_ into the room that felt natural, even if it was just light. However, my confusion at finding myself in this situation kept me frozen in place. I had no desire to trigger some reaction by a sudden, unwelcome movement. It was obvious I was being detained by the Core, though I had no idea their prison cells were so—

My heart dropped down into my stomach. Unless I wasn't a prisoner.

The events of the Reaping finally came rushing back to me. I felt like I was going to be sick as the reality of my situation flooded over me, each new realization like a punch to the gut.

I was a dead man, being sent to compete in the games? Check.

I had sacrificed myself in the hopes of saving Jenna, when she hadn't even ended up needing saving? Check.

I had fainted on stage in front of everyone I had ever known? Double check.

And, perhaps worst of all, they hadn't bothered trying to rouse me to say goodbye to my family.

I spent a couple moments floundering in a state of mental anguish I wouldn't have previous thought possible, wondering why I didn't simply implode from the heartache and the pain.

Then, to my great surprise, the despair cleared almost as suddenly as it had arrived. A sense of clarity and perhaps even acceptance washed over me like a soothing balm, and I certainly didn't try to fight it. I felt my mind detach itself from the racing pulse, trembling limbs, and thundering heart in my body, and I considered my situation while hovering in midair, looking down at my terrified form.

I would die in a few days. That was essentially certain. However, Jenna was safe, and permanently so. She would never have to face another Reaping; at least, not one of her own. That was certainly something to celebrate.

I considered the prospect of looking like the weakest link to my future competitors due to my rather shameful episode on stage, but I waved the idea away philosophically. Dead men don't feel embarrassment.

The only remaining issue of note was the fact that I hadn't gotten to say goodbye, but maybe it was better that way. They would suffer from the lack of closure, I knew, but in the long run that tiny speck of comfort would mean little to them. As for me, I would miss them, but not for very long, so again, it mattered only a little bit.

With all these points considered, I returned wearily to my body once more. My pulse slowed, and my breathing settled back into an even rhythm. Whoever was watching me—for there surely was someone on surveillance duty—would have seen only a few seconds of panic. I felt as though I had just lived a lifetime of it. I had a sudden desire to settle back down to sleep and never wake up again.

Due to the rumbling surrounding me and my own inward turned thoughts, I missed the first knock on the door. The second time the knocking was a little stronger, and I slowly turned my head to look at the flat expanse of wall where I assumed the doorway was.

"Come in," I croaked, surprised at how dry my throat felt as I forced the words out. I must've been sleeping for far longer than normal, likely due to a combination of stress and my previous sleepless night.

Part of the wall slid silently sideways, revealing a slight figure standing in the rectangular hole that remained. She looked vaguely familiar. It took me a moment, but then I realized why. She was wearing a pair of white pants and a white blouse now, but by mentally replacing her outfit with a light sundress, she suddenly became the girl who had volunteered for Jenna. I had caught only a brief glimpse of her before passing out, but that moment wasn't one I was likely to forget.

I looked her up and down rather passively, finding I didn't really care all that much about her. Originally, I might have felt grateful that she had guaranteed Jenna's safety, but I also might have resented her for volunteering so late, ensuring my own death. Through the lens of my recent acceptance of my fate, I didn't really feel either of those emotions. All I felt now was hollow.

For her part, she stood unmoving, examining me as I did the same to her. Her figure, as I had already noted, was slight, but there was more to it than that. She seemed impossibly young for someone who had chosen to volunteer, only thirteen, or maybe fourteen. She was built like a pixie, and it was hard to believe she could possibly do anything other than crumble in the first couple of minutes in the arena.

Her eyes, an incredibly dark black surrounded by the pale skin of her face, told a different story. I saw a light there, a burning fire, and that surprised me. I considered the mildly interesting notion that she was currently my opposite in every way. I was large, fit, and dead inside. She was tiny, helpless, and fighting to live.

"You're Luca." It was a statement of fact, not a question. Her voice was light and airy, and it matched her frame well.

After an apathetic shrug, I considered not replying, leaving her words to hang awkwardly in the air, but seeing as I harbored no ill will against her, I decided against it. "That's me. And you are?"

She paused, considering me briefly once more with those impossibly dark eyes, then said, "You can call me Ghost."


	7. Chapter 7

The oddity of the name stirred my curiosity. I raised an eyebrow skeptically as I spoke. "I can call you Ghost? Is that a nickname, then?"

She shook her head wearily, the gesture of someone who was used to answering the question I had just asked. "Not really. I was named after my mother. May I come in?"

Her request left no room for me to question her further about her name, so I dropped the subject and replied, "If you'd like. Uh… What's mine is yours, I suppose." I motioned halfheartedly around the hideous room. "Does the entire airship look like this, or were they just trying to torture me specifically?"

"Train," she corrected me automatically, then flashed me a small smile as she moved to perch on the edge of my sofa. Her teeth were white and perfectly straight. I had only ever seen people from the Capital with a smile like that before, and it took me by surprise. District 10 wasn't exactly known for its fine dentistry. "But unfortunately, yes, it all looks rather similar. Although, if you look hard enough, you may be able to find a wider range of oranges than you've got in here. Maybe even an amber or a tangerine, if you're lucky."

It took me a moment to realize she was making a joke. I blinked, then let out a halfhearted snort of amusement. She didn't look offended by my lackluster reaction. In fact, she wasn't even looking at me, but instead surveying the room with wide, dark eyes. "Mine looks just like this one, except they added this awful orange lace to the edges of everything. I don't think they quite understand the difference between girls and boys; at least, not the ones that don't call the Capital home."

I winced at her easy dismissal of the Capital and its design, particularly in this place where we were definitely being monitored. It may seem silly, but I had grown up in a world where offhand remarks like that could get you thrown in a cell. Statements like that were best kept in the only place they were safe, which was deep inside of your own head.

This time, Ghost noticed my discomfort, but she responded to it with a chuckle, which, coming from her tiny frame, was only a faint tittering noise. "Chin up, big boy. You're a tribute now, and the whole world knows it. They can't simply chuck you off the train because you dislike their sense of fashion."

She had a point, but still, I felt that it might be best to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"You're a tribute too," I began slowly. There was obviously only one question that I particularly needed answered, but I wanted to broach it carefully. "But… You didn't have to be. So why…?"

I trailed off awkwardly, but it was clear that she gathered my meaning. Her cheery demeanor quickly faded as she considered how to best answer my hesitant query. I saw her hands clench into tight, defensive balls at her sides, then relax again so quickly that I wondered if I might have misunderstood the gesture. She then switched to running her hands nervously through her short black hair, as if to keep them occupied. Her hair was cut close to her head in a pixie-like fashion, but it looked as if it had been chopped off recently. Her hands may have been used to meeting much longer locks when they reached upwards.

Finally, after a minute or two of silence, she replied, "My family… fell on hard times recently." Her words were careful and slow, though I wasn't sure why. Was she afraid I would be angry at her for her reply? "My dad… is no longer with us, and my mom can't provide for me and my little sister anymore. If I go to the Games, I have a chance to save my family."

Of course. It made perfect sense now, and there was even precedent for it. As a way to provide "hope" to citizens that had little, the winners of the Games were awarded a fine house in their district and a lifetime's supply of money; certainly more than enough to provide for even a large family. I had seen a decent number of children volunteer for the Games in hopes of winning this prize, but this was the first from District 10, at least in my lifetime. I was foolish to think it had anything to do with me or Jenna.

Ghost wasn't quite finished speaking. She continued hesitantly, "I… I have to be honest with you. I was scared, just a little bit. I knew I wanted to do this, but I also wanted to see who the boy was going to be first. I mean, if he was going to be chosen anyways, I figured it couldn't hurt." She gulped nervously, her eyes flickering back and forth between her lap and my face. "I had no idea you would… I mean, you and your sister… I'm so sorry."

I understood what she was trying to say, and I appreciated the fact that she bothered to care about what I felt at all. Besides, it was impossible to feel anything but pity for her in this anxious state. "It's alright. I understand, and none of this is your fault. If anything, I should be grateful to you for saving Jenna."

With my acceptance of her apology vocalized, I practically saw the great weight lift from her small shoulders. All of her earlier spunk returned in one mighty swoop. "You and I are going to throw a serious wrench into the works," she announced proudly.

I had to resist the temptation to laugh at that ludicrous notion, but still, I admired her determination. "You saved my sister, and for that I'm grateful. I promise I'll make sure you don't trip off a cliff or something." I kept my voice light and tried not to think about what that type of alliance would mean. Odds were we wouldn't make it past the first couple days, anyways, so it didn't really matter if we went down together or alone.

"Good to hear," she replied, her lips parted in a smile and her eyes burning once more with that strange light. "Now, you may want to prepare yourself. We'll be arriving in the Capital in the next hour or so. Qon says try not to embarrass him by fainting off the train platform."


End file.
